


Unabashedly

by annabagnell



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Fawnlock, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Verse, exchangelock, fluff AND smut what do you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 11:39:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1939638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabagnell/pseuds/annabagnell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock’s mouth fell open with a harsh cry and he braced himself against John’s thighs, meeting each of John’s thrusts with a forward rock of his own. “Eros,” he gasped, air sawing in and out of his lungs as John fucked him. “Eros, eros.” </p><p>John’s brow furrowed in concentration as his brain fought to complete dual tasks - talking and fucking, simultaneously. “Eros?” he asked, looking up at Sherlock, who seemed lost in desire. </p><p>“God of sexuality,” Sherlock panted in reply. “Pray to him during sex instead of your gods - he smiles on us.” </p><p>John grinned and bit back a laugh. “So we’ve got some almighty pervert watching us fuck?” </p><p>Sherlock looked down at John through one heavy-lidded eye, mouth curled up in a smile. “Unabashedly.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unabashedly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [johnlockhedgehog149](https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnlockhedgehog149/gifts).



> A fic for exchangelock! (exchangelock.tumblr.com) This one was for johnlockhedgehog149. Their wishes were Fawnlock, Omegaverse, and Johnlock! Here you be - I like this one. :)

John barely had time to blink himself awake before the door slammed shut - the opening, he reasoned groggily, was what must have awoken him. The sharp tap of hooves on the floor, pausing intermittently, grew louder as they made their way closer to the bedroom, and John realised that he’d left the bedroom door open last night in his sleepy trek to bed. 

 

There was a disgruntled noise followed by a loud thump, and John flopped over in bed to see Sherlock with a coat and scarf half-caught on his antlers, staring disdainfully at the coat rack with which he’d apparently picked an ill-advised fight. The fawn’s ears were dusted with snow and his nose, while covered with downy tan fur, seemed to be glowing a slightly more vibrant colour of red than usual. 

 

“You know, if you were cold, you could have just asked to borrow my things,” John rumbled, his voice thick with sleep and laced with amusement. “You didn’t have to kill my coat rack in a fight for dominance.” 

 

“Forgot it was there,” Sherlock replied, reaching up to delicately pick John’s coat and scarf from his antlers. “You’ve so many unnecessary things lying about, it’s hard to keep track of where they all are.” He dropped the garments unceremoniously on the floor and tapped his way over to the mattress. John scooted aside and pulled the covers back, and Sherlock slipped inside, burrowing down underneath the duvet and peering at John from over the top of the sheet. John laughed and rolled onto his side to face the fawn, who appeared content simply to warm up in John’s bed. 

 

“What brought you in from the cold?” John asked, reaching up to tuck the sheet closer to Sherlock’s chin. The fawn’s ear flicked back and forth as John’s movement disturbed the air around it, and John held back an amused smile as Sherlock rolled his eyes and shifted. 

 

“It’s _too_ cold outside,” came the grumbled reply. “Why would I stay out there when you’ve got a perfectly warm, soft, and serviceable bed inside?” 

 

John shrugged. “Dunno. You don’t seem to get on well indoors. Pick fights with coatracks and bedsheets and jumpers and all that.” 

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes again and shook his head, pulling the sheets up further over his face. “I’ll leave if you keep teasing.” 

 

“Might be better for me. Your hooves are like little ice cubes - you’re a black hole, sucking in all the warmth,” John replied, reaching over with one big toe to poke Sherlock’s shin. Sherlock withdrew the offending limb and glared at John, who laughed and moved closer to Sherlock under the covers. 

 

Sherlock’s heat slowly returned to him as the flannel sheets wicked away the damp chill, allowing his body heat to stick and keep the both of them warm. Soon, John was dozing off again, the combined heat of their bodies keeping both man and fawn comfortably warm but not overheated. 

 

He woke up not long after he’d drifted back to sleep, though, and this time he was even groggier and more disoriented than before. Sherlock was already in the house - unless someone else had come to pay an unexpected visit, what would wake him up? John pushed himself up in bed and scrubbed a hand over his eyes, looking blearily across the bed to where Sherlock lay, twisted and sweating in the sheets.

 

“Sherlock? Hey, Sherlock…” John reached over and carefully laid his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, drawing it back almost immediately as he felt the heat and dampness of his skin. Was he sick? “Sherlock, wake up.” 

 

The fawn whined and twisted under John’s hand, and the concerned doctor shook his shoulder a little harder. “Come on, wake up. I think you’re ill.” 

 

“‘M not,” Sherlock rumbled, half-asleep, but he blinked awake and started to wriggle out of the sheets. “I’m hot. Why am I - oh.” 

 

John caught the wave of smells at the same time Sherlock must have noticed the dampness between his legs - the sheets were soaked in it, and John could see the fawn’s fur glistening in the moonlight. “Heat,” they both croaked at the same time, and there was a split-second pause before Sherlock threw the sheets off and moved to straddle John in one liquid, lightning-quick movement. 

 

John’s hands moved to grip Sherlock’s lean hips, gripping the furred curves of Sherlock’s rounded arse between his fingers and pulling him down onto his still-clothed lap. “You’re soaked,” John rasped, and Sherlock hissed in agreement, another wave of pheromones precluding the arrival of even more lubricant. John’s lap was soon equally wetted with it, and his cock was erect in his pants, the occasional grind of Sherlock’s thigh or groin against it enticing it to grow even harder. 

 

Though loathe to do so, John let go of Sherlock’s hips just long enough to pull his shirt off and throw it aside. He pulled Sherlock close once again as it fell to the floor, his bare chest pressing against Sherlock’s belly as they ground against each other. His nose was buried in the thick fur of Sherlock’s ruff, and the pheromones were so thick and heady there that John’s eyes watered. “Jesus,” he gasped, and Sherlock shuddered and rocked down harder against John’s groin. 

 

“Pants off,” the fawn whined, arching his back and rutting desperately against one saturated trouser leg. John pushed Sherlock off, taking a few deep breaths and squeezing his eyes shut as the fawn bounced against the mattress. He pushed himself up onto his knees, shucking his trousers and pants down, and then fell back against the mattress again, kicking his legs until the uncooperative, wet garments finally flew over the end of the bed. 

 

“Come here,” he motioned to Sherlock, who wasted no time in climbing up on John’s lap once again. The doctor was more prostrated this time, back flat against the bed with his knees bent and feet planted on the mattress. Sherlock slid down John’s damp thighs, the hair there so sparse compared to his own furred legs, and both men groaned. Sherlock’s prick, erect and curved upward, brushed against John’s as the fawn seated himself, and John bit back a groan and a shudder. 

 

Sherlock, on the other hand, had no inclination whatsoever to be quiet, and he let out a hearty growl as he started to rut their engorged pricks together. “Can’t do this much longer,” he grunted, looking down at John hazily. “Need you to fuck me.” 

 

“This why you came inside?” John asked in reply, reaching out to run one hand over the hair on Sherlock’s belly before gripping his hips once again. 

 

“Didn’t know it at the time, but must have been. Just knew it would be better in here, with you.” Sherlock let his head fall back and kept rocking up and down on John’s groin, his cock starting to leak a little as the fervor of his heat increased. 

 

John slid one hand between Sherlock’s parted thighs and rubbed his fingers along the crease of Sherlock’s arse, his hand instantly becoming slick with the fawn’s fluids. He pushed one finger inside the soft ring of muscle, and Sherlock jerked and moaned above him. 

 

John withdrew his fingers, re-slicked his hand, and then wrapped his fingers around both their cocks as best he could, holding tight flesh against tight flesh for a few delicious seconds before letting go and gripping the base of his own cock. Sherlock shuddered as he felt the head of John’s cock slide against his perineum, then at the lip of his entrance, pausing before ever so slowly breaching his body. 

 

Biting his lip, John pushed in slowly, his thighs quaking as he pushed himself upward into Sherlock’s waiting body. Sherlock squeezed and tensed around him, his muscles pulling John in further, deeper into his slick channel. “More,” Sherlock shuddered, and John pushed himself in the last few inches, until he was seated deep inside the fawn. 

 

Both man and fawn were panting and sweaty, Sherlock in the throes of heat, John in the throes of desire. Moonlight, filtering weakly through the windowpane, cast shadows of Sherlock’s antlers against the opposite wall and put his face in soft relief - dark patches of fur even darker against the pale colors covering most of his body. John allowed himself a few seconds to look at the ethereal creature currently heaving breaths and writhing on his lap, and then when it seemed he could take it no longer, started to snap his hips - 

 

Sherlock’s mouth fell open with a harsh cry and he braced himself against John’s thighs, meeting each of John’s thrusts with a forward rock of his own. “Eros,” he gasped, air sawing in and out of his lungs as John fucked him. “Eros, eros.” 

 

John’s brow furrowed in concentration as his brain fought to complete dual tasks - talking and fucking, simultaneously. “Eros?” he asked, looking up at Sherlock, who seemed lost in desire. 

 

“God of sexuality,” Sherlock panted in reply. “Pray to him during sex instead of your gods - he smiles on us.” 

 

John grinned and bit back a laugh. “So we’ve got some almighty pervert watching us fuck?” 

 

Sherlock looked down at John through one heavy-lidded eye, mouth curled up in a smile. “Unabashedly.” 

 

“That’s a bit hot, actually,” John replied, and breathy laughter filled the room alongside their grunts and noises. 

 

As the moon began to fall, and sunlight replaced its pale glow, John pulled out of Sherlock and flipped the fawn onto his back. Sherlock’s hair fanned out wildly against the pillow and his antlers clicked against the headboard as he situated himself, and John grabbed him by the thighs with a grin and pulled him down a few inches. Sherlock wrapped his legs around John’s back and propped himself up slightly on his elbows, watching with intent as John pushed in again, filling him more deeply than before. 

 

“Ohh, that’s it,” the fawn sighed, his head falling back against the pillows as John started to thrust in once more. John’s fingers dug into the furred skin on Sherlock’s thighs, and the unspoken message passed between both men: close. 

 

Sherlock came first, chest heaving and cock spilling milky-white fluid over his spotted belly. Dark-tipped fingers dug into the sheets and his legs curled tighter around John’s back, hooves digging sharply into John’s spine. “Eros, Eros,” the fawn panted, eyes squeezed tight shut against waves of pleasure. 

 

John followed him quickly into pleasure, giving a handful more arrhythmic thrusts before losing himself to the slick pull of Sherlock’s body around his. He tipped forward, his arms caging Sherlock’s body and bracing him from collapsing entirely on the fawn’s body as orgasm took him. The name on his lips was not that of a god, but that of his mate’s, as his mind went hazy. 

 

John’s thighs were still quivering with aftershocks when he felt Sherlock pull off his spent cock, and he reached out a blind arm to pull the fawn toward him. Sherlock followed the gentle pressure without hesitation, curling around John’s body and slotting one leg between John’s. His nose ended up resting just next to John’s, his breath puffing warm against John’s cheek. His antlers, John knew, were tipped forward just enough to cast gentle webbed shadows of protection across both their faces. 

 

When at last John’s eyes blinked open, Sherlock’s gaze met them immediately. Both men lay unblinking, lost in their thoughts and in each other’s eyes, for several long seconds, before Sherlock’s lashes drifted downward in silent deferral. John’s lips curled into a smile and he moved forward, pressing a whisper-soft kiss to the fawn’s lips. Sherlock returned it tentatively, then with more ardor, and after the kiss ended both men lay in happy, sated silence, content in each other’s arms. 

 

The sun broke easily over the horizon, waking the birds and animals who called the forest home. And inside a small cabin, hidden amongst the trees, John and Sherlock made a home of their own. 

 


End file.
